


Weapon of Choice

by hypernomad



Series: Drabbles [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypernomad/pseuds/hypernomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey doesn't always understand what Ian's getting at, nor does he always see everything he sees. Fortunately, they have a pretty good back up plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weapon of Choice

**Author's Note:**

> The poem mentioned is Gabriel Gadfly's beautiful poem 'Beautiful Like...' which you can read on his website.

Mickey glares down at his feet resting on the end of the mattress and plays with the cigarette between his fingers thoughtfully while Ian lays on his stomach beside him and reads. He’s recently discovered Wordsworth and is apparently turning into a nineteenth century Romantic.

“Hey, Shakespeare,” he says quietly after a long, languid silence, “you really mean what you said?”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Mick.” Ian laughs.

“I mean… about me having nice legs.” Mickey says, barely audible and mumbled through a pout, twiddling his big toes together slightly as though hoping that Ian won’t notice his trepidation.

Ian snickers and shifts on the bed a little, sliding a finger between the pages of his book and leaning the side of his head on the same hand to look at his lover. “Of course I did. You got nice everything, baby.” Ian says playfully, and strokes Mickey’s abdomen with his palm.

Mickey smiles at the gesture, but doesn’t quite believe his words. Unfortunately, Ian can read him better than the book in his hand, and he sighs. “Am I really going to have to convince you?” Ian says.

Mickey looks down at their feet on the end of the bed, at his own short, slightly bowed-outward legs and then at Ian’s long, gangly ones with their nice calves, delicate ankles and long feet and toes hanging off the end of the mattress. His eyes travel upwards, over his strong thighs, the swell of his bare ass and over the defined muscles of his back. He’s slightly sweaty; there’s a slightly out of season heat wave for this time of year and the old, decrepit fan in the corner is doing a shitty job of cooling them down.

“I don’t know, I just don’t think they’re all that great. I don’t get why you’d think they were especially hot or whatever-“

Suddenly, Ian’s tossing Wordsworth over his shoulder and towering over him. “ _You are stunningly, terrifyingly, shock-and-awe beautiful. You are beautiful like bullet tracers over Fallujah are beautiful, beautiful like the thousand shapes and colors swimming in your vision after a too-soon flashbang in a Baghdad bakery are beautiful. Beautiful like the grenade at your feet still has the pin is beautiful, beautiful like the bullet that kissed your dog tags and only went halfway through is beautiful, beautiful like the bullet that kissed your throat and went all the way through is beautiful.”_

Ian’s still staring intently at him when Mickey blurts out an ever so intelligent, “huh?”

Ian doesn’t reply, he only smirks down at him with something intense ad mysterious dancing in his eyes.

“Is that from The Notebook or some shit?” Mickey asks when Ian doesn’t say anything.

“No, it’s Gabriel Gadfly.” Ian says, pulling away. “I can’t remember all of it, but it reminds me of you.”

“Gabriel who?” Mickey says, and stubs out the spent cigarette out in the nearby ashtray. “Man, your new meds are makin’ you loopy as fuck.”

“It’s not loopy. It’s romantic. It’s about thinking someone is beautiful in a non-typical way. And loving someone with all the shit they’ve been through, and loving someone even though they’re a little fucked up. Fuck, because of it even. And a bunch of other shit probably, I don’t know.”

“Pfft,” Mickey says, climbing atop the younger man to straddle him. “Whatever. I’d rather you _showed_ me how beautiful you think I am.”

“I already showed you twice today, you horny little fuck.”

“Yeah, well, I need more convincing, shithead.” Mickey replies, and leans down to kiss Ian’s grinning mouth.

Words never really were Mickey’s weapon of choice.


End file.
